Once a Bride (13 page)
“He refused to tell me how he was injured, refused to reveal what he knew of my father’s disappearance. I should have insisted.” But she hadn’t, and then Kenworth arrived, and between the monk making a dolt of himself and then being ensconced with the earl, she’d barely seen him since.
“He wanted to speak with you before he left. The earl would not allow it. I wonder what changed the monk’s mind.”
She had no notion. “Did the two of them find anything of import in the accounting room?”
“I have my doubts. ’Twouldn’t be like the earl not to gloat if they had.”
A small comfort.
“Perhaps there was nothing to find.”
Kenworth entered the northern woodlands, and the thick forest soon swallowed him up. Gone. Finally gone. At the edge of her awareness, she heard the squeal of the drawbridge being raised, the portcullis lowered.
Roland backed up half a step, allowing the wind to bite her while he turned to face her. He leaned his hip against the wall, his expression thoughtful. Then he grasped her hand and ran his thumb across the knuckles to brush away a smudge of dirt. The tenderness of the gesture plucked a sweet chord that sang to her soul.
“Timothy tells me he found you in the dungeon. A wretched place for a high born lady to roam. To what purpose?”
She couldn’t tell him what she searched for. “Merely an inspection.”
He smiled at that. “So said your guard. I do not think he believed you either. You searched for a hidden passage, did you not?”
How irritating that he guessed her purpose. Reminded of her embarrassment and fright in that horrible place, she answered with silence.
“So I thought.” His grip on her hand tightened. “Eloise, you are not the only one who wondered how your father’s message was delivered. I know what you were looking for because Marcus and I have searched the keep and walls stone by stone, even the dungeon, and found nothing.”
Damn.
“If there is no secret passage, then how?”
“I know not. ’Tis yet a puzzle. Perhaps if we all put our minds to it we can solve it. None of us likes the idea of someone being able to secretly gain entrance.”
He again grazed her knuckles with his thumb, an absent, possessive gesture, as if he had the right with no one to gainsay him. She should pull away, put some space between them, for with Kenworth gone Roland was now completely in charge.
Would he prove fair and honorable in carrying out his responsibility? Or would he choose to wield his power forcefully, holding a giant hammer over their heads?
Everyone at Lelleford seemed willing to accept Roland’s rule over the holding. Simon and Marcus considered him fair and just. She might balk at the breadth of his authority, but she wanted more of the man.
This attraction to Roland was inexcusable. Yet she reveled in the sensation of her hand cradled in his, yearned to explore the depths of the allure further.
The longer he stayed, the more opportunity to make a fool of herself, or worse. If she followed her impulses, she betrayed her father’s trust.
She pulled her hand from his, the warmth immediately giving way to the cold. The shadow threatened to swamp her again. With a will her father would be proud of, she turned her thoughts outward.
“The villagers will be glad to see the gates open again. As soon as they realize the earl has fled, they will flock to the bailey to learn all the news.”
“Their curiosity must wait. The gates remain closed for at least two days. ’Twould not do to have one of the knights ride out to overtake and warn your father.”
Eloise gritted her teeth. With the earl’s leaving, she’d expected a taste of freedom. So quickly Roland had snatched the morsel away.
“So we are still prisoners.”
“Two days, Eloise. Surely you can endure for two days.”
R
OLAND THOUGHT it a mean twist of fate that on this third morning after Kenworth’s departure, the day dawned with the threat of a downpour. Eloise paced in front of the hearth, her cloak at the ready, eager for release.
She hadn’t endured the extended confinement well, not even when he’d given her full freedom of the castle with no guard on her heels.
If only it was the weather that forced him to postpone Eloise’s ride to the village. Perhaps then she might not be hurling bolts of lightning his way.
Roland tossed back a chunk of bread and tried to concentrate on his morning meal, not watching Eloise stew.
Impossible. The woman was magnificent in her pique—mouth pinched, hands clasped behind her back, her impatient strides long and graceful.
She shot him another scathing bolt, singeing him clear through. ’Twas all he could do to not squirm in his seat.
“This is absurd, Roland. I assure you there is not a band of ruffians anywhere near Lelleford. No scoundrel would dare intrude on my father’s lands.”
Judging by what he knew of Sir John Hamelin’s fervor in protecting his holding, she was probably right. The area was regularly patrolled and villains dealt with in swift, harsh fashion. Roland intended to carry on in the same mien.
“The patrols should return soon, and the moment Simon and Marcus assure me no bandits lurk on the road, you can go.”
“How much longer might that be?”
“However long it takes.”
She aimed for a stool near the hearth and sat down with a huff. “If they do not hurry, I shall have to worry more about being drenched than attacked.”
“Then perhaps you should delay your trip to the village until after the rain has ended.”
The suggestion earned him a baleful look.
Roland gathered his patience. “The village will be there this noon as well.”
“Aye, it will. But the villagers have been denied entry to the keep for several days. That has never happened before, and I am sure some of them suffered hardships, or are frightened. They depend upon us for protection and in some cases for their livelihood. ’Tis best I show myself as soon as is possible, reassure them their well-being will not be adversely affected by my father’s troubles.”
Roland knew Marcus intended to ride through the village, a sign to all that despite their lord’s troubles, life would return to near normalcy. He also knew that a visit from their lord’s daughter would do wonders to calm the peasants’ unease.
Still, he knew better than to think her haste completely due to her concern for the villagers.
“You also itch to get back on a horse.”
“Certes. I like to ride as much as you do.”
They’d discovered the common delight in the days before Hugh’s death. Roland remembered seeing Eloise go into the stable, and thinking it a good time to get to know his brother’s bride better, he’d followed her inside.
They’d traded tales of enjoyable hunts, of near misses when jumping logs and long rides on peaceful paths. He went in curious and came out enchanted—and absolutely sure Eloise Hamelin an unsuitable wife for his meek half brother.
He now wished, for several reasons, he’d kept his curiosity to himself, never come to know the woman nor decided to make his observation known to Hugh.
“Do you still ride the chestnut mare?”
Her expression softened slightly. “Aye. Despite her age she is yet eager for a brisk ride, though of necessity not as fast and shorter than of old. And you, the black stallion?”
“Not the same one. He fell in Scotland.”
“Oh, how sad. In battle?”
“Aye. Valiant to the end.”
Roland had mourned the loss of a wondrous horse, but admitted the loss softened by the steed’s replacement. A magnificent young black with impeccable bloodlines and impressive stamina. A gift from a grateful king.
Timothy leaned over Roland’s shoulder to pour more ale into the goblet. “More bread or cheese, milord?”
“Nay, nothing more.” “If you have no further need of me, I am off to the practice yard.”
As far as Roland knew, most of the knights and squires were out roaming the countryside, ensuring Lelleford’s security.
“Against whom do you practice?”
“Until the others return, I will content myself with quintain and lance.”
Roland thought it odd his squire would take to the yard alone to challenge the quintain, but wouldn’t question the lad’s diligence in honing a skill at which he was becoming quite proficient.
“Go then. Keep the point up.”
A smile spread across the squire’s face. “I shall strive to keep my seat, too. By your leave, milord.”
Timothy left, and Roland noted that the hall was beginning to empty. Most of the castle folk had finished with their meal and were setting about their daily tasks.
Roland wished he had set tasks to perform.
As he’d hoped everyone fell back into their daily habits with little fuss and no direction needed on his part. That was good.
Except their self-reliance also spawned boredom, which made him restless. Not overly, but there were times he hunted up tasks to keep himself busy—so he wouldn’t be tempted to happen across Eloise’s path, just to see where she was and what she was doing. So he wouldn’t ask her some inane question just to hear the sound of her voice.
Perhaps he should join Timothy in the tiltyard.
The opening door spared him the decision. Simon walked in, removing his mist-sheened cloak.
Eloise immediately rose. “What news?”
The steward bowed slightly. “We seem to have weathered the upheaval in good order, my lady. We found nothing out of the ordinary. I expect Marcus will report the same.”
She spun to face Roland. “Now may I go?”
He shook his head. “Marcus searches the area around the village. We await his report.”
Flinging her hands in the air, she rolled her eyes and plopped back down on the stool, her exasperation acute.
He tried not to smile, noticed Simon doing the same.
’Twasn’t odd, he supposed, that on occasion Simon and Marcus reacted to some comment or action of Eloise’s like tolerant uncles. They adored her, would protect her with their lives without any order or hesitation. Eloise returned their devotion, turning to them for advice, seeking their company of an eve.
He often joined them, knowing he was accepted, but still felt the outsider.
Probably best that way. He might have temporary control over Lelleford, but someday either Sir John would return to his holding or the king would give it to another lord. Either way, Roland would have to relinquish control.
How soon that day arrived depended upon the outcome of John’s capture and trial. Since Roland hadn’t yet received word from either the earl or the king, he had no idea how events progressed.
Eloise sat with her arms crossed, her toe tapping on the stone floor set before the massive hearth.
Simon joined him at the trestle table, looking happier for his escape from the keep.
The steward leaned forward and whispered, “Truly, Roland, I do not believe there is any danger this morn. Besides, you intend to send an escort with her, do you not?”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Roland answered in kind. “Aye. We cannot allow her outside the walls unprotected. Any unscrupulous lout who might think to seize Sir John’s lands would have too much of an advantage should he capture and force a marriage upon Hamelin’s daughter. Will she balk at an escort?”
“Not if she realizes the necessity, I think.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Roland tossed back the last of his ale and got up.
“Come along, Eloise, before you dent that stone.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Where do we go?”
“To the village. That is what you wanted, is it not?”
She shot off the stool. “Aye, but … I see no reason for you to accompany me.”
“Your father has enemies. Should one of them seize you we would have the devil’s own time getting you back. You must give me your word not to go outside the gate without escort.”
She bit her bottom lip, the implications of her possible seizure and the sense of his order taking hold.
“You have my word.”
He believed her. Eloise was an intelligent as well as beautiful woman who recognized the danger to her as well as to her father’s holding. He didn’t want to worry her, but he didn’t want her taking unnecessary risks, either.
“Let us go, then,” he said with a smile, eager to escape the walls himself. “You can admire my new stallion.”
She flung on her cloak as they hurried out of the hall. Amusement lit her eyes.
“Is he so grand?”
A grander horse than he’d ever hoped for, a warhorse bred for the king’s stables. “Judge for yourself.”
They entered the outer bailey, and Roland glanced toward the tiltyard. Timothy no longer had the field to himself.
One by one the squires who’d returned with Simon gripped lances tight against their sides and charged the quintain. Most of them hit the target square and true, making the pass without getting knocked from their saddles—to the delight of the group of females who’d gathered to watch and cheer.
Roland’s steps slowed as Timothy set his lance. The lad usually gave a good account of himself, and this time proved no different. With a flourish, he made his pass, wheeling his horse at the end of the run to accept the accolades of the maids.
Roland couldn’t help a burst of laughter. “No wonder Timothy could hardly wait to leave the hall.”
“And Isolde said she had errands to attend. I wonder which task led her to the tiltyard.” Eloise sighed. “ ’Tis grand to hear joyful sounds in the bailey again.”
Roland agreed. In silence they stood and watched the young people, the males showing off their talent and prowess to the delight of giddy, appreciative females. It soon became apparent to which female Timothy made his lowest bow, and for whom Isolde cheered the loudest.
The unease Roland exchanged with Eloise didn’t need verbal expression. His squire, her maid. Both young but of an age to know their own minds—and bodies.
“Isolde is but ten and four. Should I be concerned for her?” Eloise asked.
At ten and six, Timothy was a good lad, but doubtless suffered the raging urges of young males everywhere. Normally, Roland wouldn’t give a thought to whether or not his squire was tupping a willing maid. However, Isolde’s maimed foot prevented her from fleeing unwanted advances, thus leaving her more vulnerable than most.